Page 2 of Dangerous Secrets

Heading back to my car with my tidbit of intel, I feel the blood beginning to trickle down my face again. I hope Bianca didn’t see it, or she will chastise me again next time we’re together. Whenever that may be. Now that I’ve been outed from this nightclub, I’ll have a more difficult time getting back in, at least when those idiots are working.

That’s another problem for another day. For now, I need to get back to Dominic and report what’s going on, then check on my dying father. After that, I can worry about Bianca and the next time we’ll rendezvous.

2

BIANCA

I’ve done this a thousand times. The lights come up; the curtains open. The crowd hushes and waits for me to begin singing and an hour later I’m sweating, exhausted, and ready to be off my feet. Today is no different, except for a few new faces. I croon out the familiar notes that I sing so regularly I do it in my sleep as I sway in beat to the music. My dress clings to my curves as I step down onto the floor. I don’t relish this part—hanging all over men in this club—but it’s part of the gig.

The more I work the crowd the better my tips are and I’m a fan of money. How else will I afford all the trappings of the expensive lifestyle I’ve made for myself? So, I weave through the crowd, fawning over them, and my singular goal is to finish the set and have a glass of something strong enough to make me not care that I debase myself by wearing this dress. Half my chest is bare, and all of my tattoos are covered with loads of makeup.

Roman is here too, sitting in a dark corner by himself as usual. He’s the only man in this place I enjoy seeing in my audience. He’s dangerous but he doesn’t know I know, and God is he sexy. I want to run my fingers through his hair while his face is buried between my thighs… like last week.

I move from one tobacco-scented man to the next until I come to his table. Conveniently he is alone; I like that. I curl my arms around his thick shoulders and sing my tune while climbing onto his lap. He makes me ache to have him, but this is just for show. I hear the whistles and catcalls as I kiss his cheek and what the crowd doesn’t see is how I grind on him and feel his cock hardening beneath me. I can’t linger though, or I’ll draw suspicion and not just from my brothers. This crowd is fickle. If I offer one gentleman more attention than any of the others, they keep their purse strings tightly shut.

But I’ll see more of Roman—Rome Gusev—I’m sure. So, as I reluctantly withdraw from his presence, I leave a trail of soft touches across his jawline then his shoulders. Then I move on to the next brute of a man who is begging for my attention. Being a woman in a mostly male environment isn’t easy, but it is how I was raised. Four brothers and a male-led business has been everything I’ve ever known, except my mother who is always there for me if I need her.

I finish the song, a preamble to the rest of my show, then head backstage to change. The next three songs will be done in a totally different dress, so I have just a few minutes to prepare. Meanwhile, Ben will have another one of the singers do a little ditty for the crowd, though they’ll all want me back. They don’t come here to be entertained; they come here to be charmed by Bianca Moretti. My name, for whatever reason, embodies power and class, and just a single touch from my fingertips sends men wild. I wish it sent them to the bank for larger bills.

“What the hell was that!”

I set my mic on a music stand in the cluttered backstage hallway and glance over my shoulder at my brother. Tony is a complete control freak and micromanages all of my shows, right down to who I pay the most attention to so that we make the most money. I’m sure he’s seen me give Rome a little too much love and decided to lecture me about it and I don’t care. There are high rollers in tonight’s audience, and I know exactly how to get them to drop their loose change.

“What?” I ask, unzipping my gown as I walk. I hate this material; find it scratchy and too tight.

“You know what,” he snaps. “You think this is a joke, Bianca? That you can just slut around with that Russian and not finish the job?”

I whip around on my heel and glare at him. My hair swings into my face then dangles across my chest. He has no clue what my plan is or why, and he is not the skilled killer I am either. Which is why I am the one doing the job, not him.

“Every kill is like art, brother. I don’t rush in and slit throats; I make them hurt.” I am seething mad, ready to smack the smug angry look off his face. “Do you want to do this? Leave a mess the don has to clean up and draw attention to the whole family? Or do you want me to handle it? Because if you want me, then back the fuck off.”

They’ve been on my back my whole life. It’s part of why I’m so strong, because I have four brothers who like to pretend they’re protecting me. They’re not. They’re just power hungry and trying to control every aspect of my life because theirs are out of control. I didn’t get to this status within the organization by following their rules, however, and I’m not about to start now.

I open the door of my dressing room and walk through it, hoping the way my dress slides down over my hips is enough to make Tony stay in the hallway, but he follows me right in. Serves him right. He deserves the show he gets for being in my private space when it’s time for me to change.

I step out of the sequined fabric, leaving it piled near the door on the floor as I kick off my shoes and head to my dress rack. The light blue number with feathers dangling from it is my next costume. Comes complete with a giant blue feather for my hair and I don’t even have a spare second to worry about whether my brother sees my tits. I snatch the dress and toss it over the back of my chair as I lean down and grab the matching hair clip from my vanity.

“You’re on a timeline. You know the best way to break the entire family is to keep the pressure on them. With that reporter on their case, now is the time to strike.”

“Let me do my job, okay?” I eye his reflection in the mirror and see his scowl deepen. “You can’t rush art,” I remind him as I sweep my black locks up into a messy bun and clip the soft blue butterfly around it. He crosses his arms over his shoulders and turns his back on me, but he doesn’t leave.

I grab the gown and hold it up, leaving myself space to step into it and pull it up. The thin feathery straps slide up my arms and onto my shoulders and I clear my throat and spin around again. I watch in the mirror as Tony turns to face me. “Zip me in.”

His jaw is still clenched but he does as he’s told—perks of being the face of this place and a few others around town. He knows as well as I do that no matter who they bring into this place for entertainment, no one packs the house like I do. Those ogling men are not out there for some lounge singer. They want The Bianca Moretti, and that’s who they’ll get.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a show to put on.” I head to the shoe rack and select the white bedazzled heels and drop them. Leaning against the rack, I balance on one foot as I slip the other into a shoe and glance at him. He is so angry all the time. It’s like that’s the only emotion he can ever feel. What is wrong with men in this family?

“Mickey ain’t gonna like that you’re messing around with him. You’ve had how many chances to kill him? You haven’t even taken one of them.” Tony crams his hands into his pockets and watches me put the other shoe on and I shrug a shoulder and raise my eyebrows.

"Then he can do the job himself.”

As I walk out of the room my stomach ties itself in knots. If Mickey does step up and handle things himself, then Rome is gone for good. It’s not like I ever had a shot with him anyway, but the fun will be over. Fuck if he isn’t the best lay I’ve ever had, and I am enjoying this. I want to milk it for all it’s worth a little while longer. I know I’m not supposed to let my heart get involved in these things and I’ve tried not to, but dammit if Roman Gusev hasn’t bewitched me. It won’t stop me from doing my job—killing him and his brothers—but it will hurt like hell.

Shuffling down the hallway, I yank on the seat of my panties, now damp from my little tango with Rome. And when I round the corner into the backstage area to find my microphone, Ben is there staring at me. His lips are puckered into a deep frown, and he is tapping his foot.

“You have less than ninety seconds left, Bianca. You need to stop cutting it so close. You’re going to give me a cardiac incident.” Always the drama queen, Ben hands me the mic and shakes his head. “You look fabulous as always, honey.”

I kiss his cheek and take the mic. “Thanks, Benny. You’ve always got my back. Now, make sure that music is loud. Are the girls ready?” I ask, glancing around. I’m supposed to have at least four backup dancers to help me do the first song, but I don’t see them anywhere.

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